


be good to me (this isn't a game)

by mikapim



Series: be good to me (sub will verse) [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Kink Exploration, M/M, Murder Husbands, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Spanking, Sub Will, Tags are For Entire Fic, genuinely all they do in this fic is have sex and talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 05:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30084048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikapim/pseuds/mikapim
Summary: The physicality of it is secondary to how it rattles him internally, makes him feel wound up and unstrung all at once. He doesn’t know how he’ll catch his breath, how he’ll ever breathe again. He doesn’t black out, and he doesn’t quite fall asleep, but he does feel not all there. The closest thing he can compare it to is the quiet drugged up peace he would awaken to when they were in their recovery right after the fall- before the pain set in and all Will knew was that he was alive, and that he was with Hannibal, and nothing else mattered at all.***Post-fall, Will and Hannibal explore Will's newly unearthed desire for sexual submission.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: be good to me (sub will verse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148105
Comments: 16
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings for entire fic:  
> -general bdsm practices and dom/sub dynamics, all the kinks listed in the tags. they don't use or discuss safewords  
> -violence, murder, cannibalism all typical to the show
> 
> this directly follows my fic 'revelation', but that one is not required reading. 
> 
> title inspired by the fiona apple song 'cosmonauts'

Will is bent over the arm of the couch in the living room- which is tall enough that Will’s toes don’t quite reach the ground, and instead his legs are dangling in the air, spread as far as they can given the underwear twisted around his ankles- and he has three of Hannibal’s fingers in his ass. It’s hot, almost humid despite the open space. He feels close to being suffocated- his arms are tied with a sturdy rope behind his back, the angle almost distractingly painful, and due to that he doesn’t have any way to help how his face is pressed hard into the leather couch by his own weight and gravity. He couldn’t give a numerical answer to how long it’s been since Hannibal bent him over and told him to be a good boy and take it, but Will would say it’s somewhere between ‘a hell of a long time’ and ‘too long’. 

“Make me-” Will has to stop to take in a deep breath of air before continuing- “Make me come, please. Need to, please, Hannibal.”

Hannibal, still clothed, doesn’t react in any substantial way, keeps finger-fucking Will at the same pace. “You surely don’t  _ need _ to,” he says after a long moment. His tone is unaffected, but Will knows if he could get a look at him he would see the bulge of a hard cock in his slacks, the dangerous glint in his eye. “And you certainly will not until I tell you to.”

“Please,” Will says, drawn out, unaware of little else besides how much he wants something else to be happening to him. If not to come, then at least Hannibal’s cock, the respite of being filled. “Hannibal.”

Hannibal leans over him a little, uses his free hand to pull on Will’s curls. It’s a relief to have his face no longer against the couch, even if his stomach muscles tense with the added strain of supporting most of his weight. “Do you think you can control yourself? Be good for me?”

“Yes,” Will says, though honestly he doesn’t know. Hannibal’s never explicitly told him not to come before, and while he’s never been too concerned about his stamina- the opposite actually being true in most other relationships he’s been in- Will’s not sure if he’d be able to stop if Hannibal puts a hand on his dick. “Yes, Hannibal, yes.”

Hannibal yanks Will upright by his hair, catches him when he stumbles as he steps out of his boxers, and then tugs him hard by his good shoulder around the coffee table. Will had been expecting them to end up on the couch, and is disconcerted when Hannibal pushes Will’s shoulders so he is led to kneel on the floor- more difficult than Will would expect, with his arms restrained.

“Aren’t we too old to be fucking on the floor?” Will says, caught off guard but not enough to stop himself from tilting forward needily into it when Hannibal places a hand in his hair, gently ruffles his curls before stepping away again. 

Hannibal silently walks around him in slow circles, looking at Will like he’s something up for appraisal. It makes him feel like he’s on fire. Hannibal stops to stand behind him- hidden from sight- for what seems like a long time, though time has become fuzzy and liquid. “You’re the picture of temptation,” Hannibal finally says, voice rough. “You should be locked away from the world. No one deserves the pleasure of looking at you like this.”

It’s difficult for the words to register at first, and even once they do Will is caught by the intensity of them. There’s dirty talk, and then there’s this: Hannibal’s fervent devotion to him. He’s trying to think up a response, but apparently Hannibal doesn’t need one, because he kneels as well, and then Will is carefully tilted forward at the hip, so that his ass is raised and his face is pressed into the carpet. Hannibal is leaning over him, but only touching him in key places- the hand firmly keeping his head in place, the legs bracketing his own, the cock wet and hard against his rear. Will doesn’t have much ability to move, but even the small jerky movements he can make are some kind of relief. He groans, somewhat less relieved, when Hannibal slips two fingers back inside him, infuriatingly casual. 

“You told me you like it when I hold you down,” Hannibal says. “Could you come just by this?”

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to.”

“You’re not. I imagine you could. You’re so desperate.”

They keep a clean house, but Will this close can still see the accumulation of filth on the carpet- strands Hannibal’s silver hair and his own dark hair, minuscule crumbs and bits of paper. He thinks about doing this outside, where he would be forced to get dirt in his mouth. His cock throbs and he tenses around Hannibal’s fingers. Desperate sounds about right. 

“I could. I won’t.”    
  
“Why?” When Will doesn’t answer right away, uncertain what the question is, Hannibal crooks the fingers inside him and says, louder- “Why won’t you orgasm even though you want to so desperately?”

Will presses his heated face harder into the carpet, trying to focus on any sensation besides Hannibal’s fingers against his prostate so that he’s able to have this conversation. “Because you told me to,” he grits out, tone hitting somewhere between annoyed and a whine. 

“And you want to do as you're told? It makes you feel good?”

Will groans loud, resisting the urge to gnash his teeth. “Yes. It makes me feel good.”

“Because you’re my sweet boy?”

“Fuck. I’m not saying that.”

Hannibal’s hand releases Will’s hair to grip his shoulder and yank him upright and then immediately lets go, forcing Will to have a moment where he thinks he might fall on his face before Hannibal quickly catches him with an arm around his chest. Will is about to complain, a little unnerved, when Hannibal pulls his fingers out and Will barely has time to flinch in response before he moans at the feeling of Hannibal’s cock rubbing against his rim, teasing. “Why not? Because you don’t like it?”

“Fuck me. Sir, please, I need you.” The honorific is half mindless and half manipulative, Will’s neediness overriding any reservations he has about using it. The way Hannibal clutches him even tighter in response to hearing it doesn't hurt. Will tries to push back onto his cock but Hannibal catches him with a hand still sticky with lube on his hip.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I like it,” Will says, voice sounding exceptionally wanton to his own ears. “You know I like it.”

“What do you like, Will?”

“I like being yours… being your sweet boy.” Will bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, embarrassment genuinely overwhelming. Why that makes him even more turned on, Will is not in a place or mindset to confront, because as soon as Will is finished saying it, Hannibal begins pressing his cock into him.

Hannibal has been fingering him for what feels like forever, but most of the lube has become tacky and half-dry. It makes for an overwhelming sensation, how Hannibal’s cock both easily enters Will and seems to drag against every part of him. (In a clearer state of mind, Will will reflect on how being penetrated by is as emotionally and cerebrally affecting as it is physically or sexually- it sounds trite, but it wouldn’t be false to say Will feels as if Hannibal fills and fulfills a part of him that he wasn’t previously aware existed.)

“Oh,” Will says, overwhelmed by sensation, and that’s all he can say as he’s roughly fucked into by Hannibal, who is keeping him in place with the arm around him and the hand on his hip. 

It doesn’t take long, or maybe Will’s lost all sense of time, but he can tell when Hannibal’s close by the way he leans forward to mouth at Will’s neck, the sudden rush of warm breath and lips sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Please,” Will murmurs, as close as demure as he can get, all put-on breathiness, “I wanna do it with you.”

When Hannibal comes, he bites Will’s shoulder hard enough to make Will jerk away a little- though more out of surprise than pain- enough that it begins to throb, but then Hannibal is reaching down and has a hand on Will’s cock, and he isn’t thinking of anything else but coming so hard it’s followed by a few moments of sudden, peaceful oblivion. 

Will is barely aware of being lowered and turned on his side, finding himself  startled when he opens his eyes to find Hannibal lying on his own side next to him, looking pleased and even a little tired. Will leans his head forward, bumping their foreheads together, looking down at their bodies. Will can’t help the ache of something just beyond arousal- a desire for comfort, perhaps, mixed with the righteousness of possession- when he catches sight of Hannibal’s hand, come  glossy over his fingers. “May I?” Will croaks out, not even having consciously made the decision to speak.

Eyes glinting with something especially delighted once he realizes what Will is asking, Hannibal gently presses the fingers to Will’s mouth until he opens and takes him in- Will’s contented when after a few moments the taste of come dissipates and it's just Hannibal’s fingers, warm and soothing and tasting like him, heavy in his mouth. Will sucks and then, completely un-self-conscious of it, starts gnawing on them, as hard as he dares, enjoying the repetitiveness of the motion and the feeling against his teeth. Hannibal smiles.

Eventually, Hannibal pulls his fingers free from Will’s mouth and lets them drag across his cheek- right over his scar, leaving spit in his beard- before pushing himself up. “What would you like?” He asks, hand soothing across Will’s hip. 

Will has to close his eyes to think. A shower, obviously, but a glass of water, or orange juice, before that. He’ll need a nap in order to be functional again, or at least to rest his eyes for a bit. He almost laughs when he realizes he hasn’t even thought about the rope still around his wrists. Sensing his indecision, Hannibal asks a different question. “Would you like me to take care of it?”

Will nods, grateful, and he’s only vaguely aware of the rope around his arms being untied, Hannibal using his free hand to rub circulation back into his wrists. Will flinches a little when he’s stood up, Hannibal’s arm tight around his waist. 

Hannibal gives him a measured look. “Your shoulders?” He asks.

Will shakes his head a little- they do hurt, but that’s not exactly uncommon- and lets himself lean against Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal hums something softly to himself, and leads Will firmly to the bathroom. 

“How do you feel?” It’s obviously curiosity and not concern that prompts the question- not that Will is feeling a lack of concern from Hannibal. It’d be hard to, with how he’s being treated- a hot bath run with all sorts of bathtime paraphernalia Will isn’t necessarily sure of the names of or reasons for. Epsom salts Will is familiar with, but Hannibal put as many ingredients in the tub as he does one of his meals. The idea that Will is being marinated and garnished in the bath, somehow, only makes him laugh. It had taken a few minutes to get the tub filled, and Will feels much more alert, less lost in his own mind, but he’s still a bit dazed. 

“Will,” Hannibal says again, “How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Will says. “Warm.”

Hannibal is sitting on the stool in the bathroom, watching him carefully- Will’s too fucked out to be especially concerned, but he knows that’s not likely to last. Hannibal is always up to something. Their lives are still comparatively dull, at the moment, and Will suspects Hannibal is hyperfocused on their sex life at least partially because he doesn’t have much else to do. Will has been pleased to find ‘this new thing’, as he still refers to the new part of their dynamic in his head, indeed hadn’t changed what they’d already established, but given them a new set of experiences to take part in. Will will wake up in a certain mood, or will become stressed during the day, or is just looking to have to think a little bit less, and Hannibal accepts his advances and inclinations with grace and a joyous sort of enthusiasm. Will, who is not necessarily ready to approach the bigger conversation of ‘what we do with our now-shared lives’, is more than okay with this distraction.

“You were desperate. Almost vacant. Gloriously unaware. It's a gift to be witness to something so uninhibited.”

Will sits up a little straighter in the tub, trying to get the remaining fog in his mind to clear so he can actually get to the point of whatever Hannibal is trying to say. “Yes. I could barely think straight.”

Hannibal stands and slowly makes his way to Will. He kneels beside the tub and reaches to cup Will’s face, heavy and warm. “You won’t orgasm again until I tell you.”

Will blinks, the affectionate gesture at odds with the order. The words register in his mind slowly and with sickly warmth, like morphine through an IV. “To what end?

“We’ll start with a week- it’s just now turning Sunday,” Hannibal says, and kisses Will hard before he can respond. “Now, let me wash your hair.”

***

The morning after Hannibal’s decree, Will has the thought- despite knowing better- that maybe Hannibal wasn’t being serious. That Will had maybe misunderstood what he meant, or at least overestimated his dedication to it. When Will wakes they’re wrapped up in each other, Hannibal’s face pressed against the place where his neck and shoulder meet, soft, even breaths cool against Will’s throat. Will only has a few bleary moments of watching Hannibal sleep before his eyes flicker open as well, meeting Will’s almost instantly. 

“Morning,” Will says, very quiet. The fondness he feels is almost bittersweet in its intensity. 

“Good morning, Will.” Hannibal matches his mood, starts pressing barely-there kisses against his shoulder and throat, making Will shiver and push himself farther into the sleep-soft pillow under his head. 

Will doesn’t quite fall back asleep but it’s close, everything taking on an unmoored quality as Hannibal kisses and touches him, all firm warmth and quiet breathing- Hannibal’s mouth on his chest, his naval, the scar right below it, the curve of his hip. It isn’t until Hannibal starts leisurely licking at his cock that Will opens his eyes fully, reaching one arm up to rub the sleep out of them as he pushes himself up onto the other arm so he can get a better look. 

Hannibal’s eyes are half-shut, his hair falling soft and ruffled over his brow. His features- the lines of his face, his plush open mouth- are slightly obscured due to the heavy curtains over the windows keeping out the morning light. If Will squints he can barely see him, just a figure in the dark, the monster at the end of his bed. 

Will lets himself fall back, his eyes fall shut. If Hannibal wants to give him a sleepy blowjob, he isn’t complaining, but he is a little surprised, in the back of his mind, that Hannibal initiated sex so soon after the night before, when Will had been ordered not to come. 

Any thoughts of Hannibal’s laxity is dashed by the way he- after just a few moments, quiet except for Will’s barely-there moans and the sound of Hannibal’s mouth spit-slick against his cock- pulls away and stands up next to the bed, stretching his arms behind his back once before walking casually away from the bed and into the en-suite. 

“Where are you going?” Will calls after him, voice rough, and then turns his face into the pillow. He misses Hannibal’s wet mouth immediately, and though it’s a poor substitute, he can’t resist taking himself in hand.

“I didn’t want to make it anymore difficult for you to do what you’ve been told,” Hannibal says from the bathroom. “More than I already have, that is.”

Will frowns. It’s too fucking early for this. Next Sunday seems very, very far away. “Are you not punishing yourself as well?”

“This isn’t punishment, it’s enacting a whim,” Hannibal calls back frankly, already in the midst of his morning routine in the bathroom, spreading a white gelatinous cream under his eyes before picking up his shave soap and brush. 

_ Enacting a whim. _ Will supposes considerably it’s more harmless than most of Hannibal’s whims, but Will’s hard cock doesn’t necessarily agree. He stays in bed, keeps touching himself. He wonders what Hannibal would do if he didn’t stop- if he’d let Will come and dole out consequences later, or if he’d appear right as Will was on the edge and make him stop. He wonders  _ how  _ Hannibal would make him stop. The lines between this dynamic they have in bed and reality seem to blur for a moment. Hannibal could, most likely, physically restrain Will so he couldn’t touch himself anymore- and the abstract idea of it doesn’t do much to damper Will’s arousal- but Will has to wonder how far this game goes. Hannibal’s been almost excessively thoughtful toward Will in this area of their life, but this is the same man who dismantled and rebuilt every boundary and idea about himself Will has ever had. A morbid curiosity makes Will want to jerk himself to completion with Hannibal only a few feet away, find out what such blatant disobedience earns him. A bigger part of him wants nothing more than to do whatever Hannibal says. To prove that he can. That he’s strong enough, good enough, that he’s worth it. 

Will squeezes his eyes shut and brings both hands up to fist his hair, embarrassed by the thoughts despite his familiarity in feeling them. He takes a few moments to breathe in and out, deep and slow, and then he pushes himself out of bed, forcing himself to start the day.

***

The beginning of the week goes by without much incident, even if Will finds himself suffering under a light hyperawareness of his own arousal and lack of climax. Besides the lack of initiation of outright sex, Hannibal’s behavior toward Will doesn’t change in any way, and in a befuddled response, Will’s doesn’t either. They go about their hobbies, their interests, the work they have to do at the house and beyond. When Will goes to the marina, Hannibal kisses him goodbye at the door and has dinner near-ready by the time he gets home. 

Twice they make the hour and twenty minute (or hour, if Hannibal is driving) journey into the city, once on Tuesday so Hannibal can pick up a box of books he ordered, and again on Thursday because Will had felt nostalgic seeing the advertisements for it and told Hannibal he wanted to go to a classic car show being held. Hannibal- honestly unsurprisingly once Will is thinking about it in hindsight- ends up enjoying it more than Will does. Hannibal can hold his own in a conversation about cars, and by lunchtime even the gruffest of the hobbyists seem charmed by him. Will mostly just watches, both the cars and his lover, content with the jovial environment and the lack of pressure on him to talk to anyone but Hannibal. They eat their packed lunch in a quiet park late in the afternoon before driving back, and Will reflects on his melancholy mood as they drive in silence across miles and miles of green hills. There is certainly a dreamlike quality to his life with Hannibal in their remote home, and an irreality to being in the living world again. Will doesn’t know whether to ascribe his moodiness to the discombobulation between slipping between the two mindsets, or to the fact that he clearly prefers one of them to the other.

That night they kiss and grope each other on the couch until they’re both hard in their trousers, Will stretched out over Hannibal. Will is weighing his desire against his pride, almost to the point of either begging or just flat-out telling Hannibal he’s done with their game, when Hannibal takes hold of Will’s neck gently, thumb sweeping over his cheekbones and down to press against his lower lip. 

“My beautiful boy,” he breathes out, looking up at Will with bright eyes. “Always so good for me.”

Will collapses down onto Hannibal, hides his face against his neck, and thinks of fish guts until he’s less deliriously turned on. 

***

Saturday is when everything goes to shit. Will is fed up, annoyed at Hannibal for coming up with the idea, annoyed at himself for being so affected by it, uncertain why they’re even doing it in the first place- and Hannibal must obviously be able to tell, given how he’s behaving. They spend a good portion of the morning in the garden and backyard, where Hannibal takes any chance to manhandle Will to show him how or where to do something, takes any opportunity to bend over, or roll up his sleeves where Will’s gaze is eternally drawn to twin scars across his wrist, or stretch his arms up over his head, revealing the furred round of his belly. Will is feeling so ungenerous toward him, he’s willing to label the actions downright slutty. 

Will has gone a week without orgasm before- hell, he’s gone a lot longer than that without feeling especially concerned. But then it hadn’t been an order from his psychiatrist-turned-lover, who slept and lived and bathed with him, whose very presence made a low grade arousal thrum in him at innocuous moments, like Will was a horny teenager again. The fact that it’s something he’s been ordered to do isn’t much help either- every circumstance around the situation only making Will more perennially turned on. 

He knows he’s in a bad mood at lunch, and he knows  _ why,  _ and Hannibal knows why, which makes the whole thing even more frustrating. It feels something akin to failure, for this to be so difficult. Will has to wonder if he will come to regret bringing this new dynamic into their lives. 

Will stays seated as Hannibal clears away lunch and starts in on dishes- there aren’t many, and Will isn’t particularly inclined to help him at the moment anyway. When Hannibal’s done, he returns to his seat across from Will, silent and observing for a few moments. 

“If you want to stop this,” Hannibal finally says, expression halfway between confusion and amusement, “you need only say so.”

“If I want to stop, I’ll walk out the fucking door,” Will says. He’d let Hannibal stab him once- what is being denied orgasm in comparison to everything else they’ve done. 

“Will,” Hannibal says, still looking amused but like he’s trying to reign it in. “Are you enjoying this?”

Will frowns. “Am I supposed to?”

“Ultimately, yes,” Hannibal says. His small smile fades to something more thoughtful. “Come here, Will.”

Will stands slowly, and takes a few steps over- he thinks Hannibal is going to pull him into his lap, but instead he gives a meaningful glance to the ground at his feet. Will bites his lip and considers saying no, but the inner debate doesn’t last long. He keeps his gaze downward and sits at Hannibal’s feet on the cool tile. Hannibal’s hand takes purchase in his curls. 

“You’ve done very well, Will,” Hannibal’s voice takes on a calming edge, soothing- an act, as much as anything is. “You’ve done just as I said up to this point. However, I now have an alternative idea in mind.”

“What, now you don’t enjoy my suffering?”

“I do,” Hannibal says easily. “But as with all things, I do not enjoy all shades of an experience in the same way. I’m finding I enjoy your suffering most when you are also taking pleasure in it. At least in circumstances such as these.”

Will frowns deeper, shifts from his place on the ground. “What’s your alternative then?” He doesn’t have to fabricate the petulance in his voice. 

“You  _ are _ beautiful in distress,” Hannibal says, still thoughtful and considering. “I’ve always thought so.”

Will lets that statement sink in. “Always?”

“Feverish,” Hannibal says, not an answer, pushing hair sweaty from working outside back off of Will’s forehead. “Lost. Begging me to help you.”

What Hannibal is saying- the idea that he was getting off on some level to Will with his brain was on fire and while he still believed in the goodness of Hannibal- it pisses Will off instantly, hands making fists behind his back. If Will had less self control, he might stand up, hit Hannibal in his smug face and go upstairs to take a cold shower. But Will hasn’t gotten this far by not knowing how to handle Hannibal verbally. 

“I made you wait so long,” Will looks up, trying to make his tone wondrous, his expression guileless, eyes _so_ wide, like he doesn’t understand what he’s saying. He knows Hannibal can see past it, but that’s not the point. “I  _ made _ you wait all these years for me.”

“Punishing yourself as well.”

Will ignores him. “How much longer would you have waited? Eight years? Fifteen? Did you ever give up on me?”

Hannibal takes a long moment to digest the question. “It brings you pleasure,” he finally says, dry. “Knowing what you put me through affected me deeply.”

“Yes,” Will agrees, louder than he means to. “You were beautiful in suffering too, Hannibal. When I first saw you again-” At this, Will has to look down, no longer able to make his eyes meet Hannibal’s. “I hadn’t seen you in so long. I wanted you to touch me. I wanted to make sure you were real.” 

“And what do you want now?”

“The same. I want the same.”

Hannibal stands so suddenly that Will shifts back a little, startled, but Hannibal is already helping him stand, kissing him hard and continuing to do so into the living room, up the stairs, into the bedroom. By the time they’re in bed, Will sprawled on top of Hannibal, they’re both naked and hard against each other. 

“I’m not gonna be able to-” Will starts, “if you keep touching me-”

“It’s alright, Will. You’ve done so well.” Hannibal takes his face in his hands, presses his mouth gently to both cheeks, his nose. “It’s alright now. You’re allowed your pleasure.”

The relief is a full body shudder, making Will able to relax into Hannibal’s arms without the overhanging pressure of not letting himself finish. He feels almost giddy with the high of it, burying his face in Hannibal’s neck and relishing in the bare expanse of his back, hands having to wreck through the made sheets on them to get their fill. 

“Would you like to be inside me?” Hannibal asks, spoken quietly into his hairline.

“I’ll last about thirty seconds,” Will huffs out, though he can’t help but let a hand slide down Hannibal’s back to his ass, fingers soft and teasing down the cleft. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Hannibal says, already turning around and out of Will’s grasp so he can reach over to the nightstand to retrieve the glass jar of lube waiting there. 

Will’s mouth dries watching the scarred expanse of Hannibal’s back as he stretches, the casual strength in his shoulders. “Stay,” he says, placing a hand on the small of Hannibal’s back, catching him before he turns back over. “Like this?” There’s a hint of a question at the end of it, Will uncertain of exactly what game they’re playing and how much choice he’s allowed. 

“Whatever you like, Will. You’ve been very good. Now you can have what you want.”

Will groans, eyes stinging with something he can’t completely place, and practically falls over Hannibal. He makes quick work of getting his fingers inside him, the confirmation that this is really happening making him want it without hesitation. Hannibal is languishing, head resting on his folded arms, watching Will out of the corner of his eye. 

“Did you- orgasm, this past week?” Will asks and then, annoyed at himself for being coy- “Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes. It was made all the more sweet knowing you were denying yourself for me.”

“You find pleasure in my obedience.”

“You find pleasure in your obedience. I find pleasure in your pleasure.”

“Oh, how benevolent,” Will says, pulling back his hand, three fingers leaving Hannibal’s hole slick and red. 

“Do you need to hear me say it?” Hannibal asks, twisting his upper half so he can meet Will’s gaze directly and darting one hand out so he can catch the one Will has just removed from his ass. Will feels more caught by his eyes than his grasp. “That I enjoy seeing you driven to prostration? That you falling to your knees and looking to me for guidance arouses me? That I  _ get off  _ on your submission?” 

Will’s breathing is heavy, closer to hyperventilation than not. He realizes that was exactly what he needed. “Tell me,” he says, barely audible on the end of a breath. “Tell me what to do.” 

“Fuck me, Will” Hannibal says, falling back down onto the bed, and Will has to close his eyes hard and pinch hard at his own thigh to stop himself from coming right then. He pulls Hannibal up by the hips and pushes into him all the way in one smooth motion, wringing a drawn-out groan from him.

“You feel so good,” Will half-sobs, deeply overwhelmed. The kisses he presses into Hannibal’s shoulders and neck as he pants are brief, faint things. “Oh, Hannibal…”

Hannibal twists an arm back to grab hold onto Will’s hair, keeping him in place and heavy against Hannibal’s back as he grinds into him. It’s more than thirty seconds, but not by that much- Will thrusts into him with almost complete abandon, unable to stop his own grunts and moans, unable to stop from seeking out everything Hannibal is giving him- tight warmth and a strong hand in his hair, the soft noises being fucked out of him. Will grinds into him throughout his orgasm and then after, as long as he can bear it, wanting to experience it fully after waiting so long. By the time he allows himself to pull out, his cock is aching with overstimulation and his eyes are smarting.

“A minute,” Will says, flopping over to side on his back, off of Hannibal. “Just a minute and I’ll…” He trails off, gestures toward Hannibal’s hard cock as he turns around to look at Will. “Whatever you want.” 

Hannibal makes a noise in the negative, and places a hand on Will’s chest, trails his fingers up slowly until he’s pushing sweaty curls off his forehead. “Now it’s time for the alternative I had in mind. The antithesis to the denial that was making you so unhappy.”

The fog is Will’s wind clears quicker than he would have preferred. Of course it can’t be that simple. “What’s the opposite of denial?” Will’s still panting but his voice has gained some substance. “Gluttony?”

“I would say debauchery.” Hannibal shifts so he’s half lying on top of Will, places a hand flat against the side of his throat. “Just now, you stayed inside me far past the point of comfort. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed you doing such a thing.” 

Realization of what Hannibal intends dawns on Will, and he can’t help the arousal that makes him clench his jaw. Hannibal notices, of course, and trails his fingers there, tracing Will’s mandible. 

“How much can you take, do you think?”

“Is that a threat?” Will asks, huffing out a laugh. 

“It’s a question.” Hannibal presses his thumb against Will’s lower lip, hard enough that when he pulls away and Will feels the spot with his tongue, it is tender and the impression of his own teeth linger. “You’ve held out for six days- an equal amount of orgasms for the days you were denied?”

“Ha!” Will’s laugh is strained. “The books are right, you are deranged. In addition to being depraved.” Will groans as Hannibal sucks at his neck, arching into it. Now that he knows what’s coming, he’s anticipatory, the only anxiety being in how much of a complete wreck he’s going to be during and after. “Three.”

“Three total, or three in addition to the one you already had?”

Another laugh. “Three total, Hannibal. Christ. You’ve always been overly optimistic about me.”

Hannibal shifts more so he’s fully on top of Will, hovering over him as he starts to kiss down his chest. “If anything, our present situation proves that I had the appropriate amount of optimism about you.” 

“Yeah?” Will stretches one arm above his head as he looks down at Hannibal, puts the other hand gently in his silk-soft hair. Despite everything he is feeling rather relaxed- he _did_ just come for the first time in days, while fucking his lover roughly, and is now about to come twice more. And, as Hannibal has surmised, Will does enjoy the pure wracking sensation of being overstimulated. “Well, you have me right where you always wanted me, Dr. Lecter. What do you plan to do about it?” 

The long, even look Hannibal gives him is chastising; Will feels anything but- at least, until, Hannibal gives one last biting kiss to his chest and quickly moves down to fully take Will’s cock in his mouth and throat. 

“Fuck!” Will tries to jerk away on pure reflex to the sensation, but Hannibal’s hands on his hips are ironclad. Will had stayed in Hannibal long enough, and then their talk had been long enough, that it isn’t as painful as it could be, but it still makes Will grind his teeth and flex his hands into fists. Hannibal’s mouth is a menace, as always, and Will half-floats in his mind, his two contesting mindsets being wet heat working his cock and easy blankness. 

Eventually, Will hears a noise like a snap and opens his eyes, only to see that’s exactly what it was, Hannibal  _ snapping  _ at him to get his attention. Will has the sense to tell him off for it, or at least gripe, but then he’s distracted by Hannibal pressing two of his own fingers in his mouth alongside Will’s cock, making his mouth look even more obscene. Will is expecting to be fingered, so he groans loud- the noise a deep ache in his chest- when instead Hannibal pulls his hand back to begin to finger _himself_. After a moment, Hannibal finally takes his mouth off Will’s cock, straightens up to straddle him.

“I’m still slick from you,” Hannibal says as he positions himself over Will’s cock, casual like he’s talking about the weather. The apathy turns Will on and annoys him in equal measure. 

Will had assumed his role would be to lie back and take what Hannibal gave him, but the image of Hannibal kneeling above him about to spear himself on Will’s cock is inspiring enough to dash any thoughts of passivity. Will rears up, taking Hannibal by the shoulders, and pushes him hard back, pressing him into the bed. Hannibal’s answering noise is more of a growl than anything else, the snarl on his face something dangerous and singularly arousing to Will. 

Hannibal starts scrabbling a bit, trying to regain the upper hand, but Will is already grabbing him by the back of his knees and pushing down with all his weight, spreading Hannibal considerably and shoving his cock into him in one go, and then starts working his hips in a quick, haphazard pace. He  _ is _ open and wet from earlier, but still so fucking tight, and Will knows he isn’t going to last much longer. Hannibal cries out, hoarse, his head falling back as he grimaces. Will is stunned by his face, the tendons of his neck, his crooked teeth, the lines around his eyes as he shuts them hard. 

“I love you,” Will says, because it’s the only thing he can think. “I love you.”

Hannibal stills, stopping his efforts to try to flip them, and his eyes- when they flutter open- are dark and shining. He grabs onto one of Will’s hands and squeezes hard. And then his other hand goes to Will’s throat, and squeezes with just as much pressure. 

Will tries to gasp but can’t, and his thrusts into Hannibal finally slow to something less frantic. Their eye contact is something Will doesn’t even know how to describe, besides perhaps earth-shattering. Hannibal’s hand isn’t even around his throat for that long, certainly not anywhere long enough to when Will would start to protest, but the suddenness of it, and the way it makes his ears ring and a sort of giddy lightheadedness register in him, it is enough. Will falls forward, his forehead pressed into Hannibal’s shoulder as he comes into him for the second time that night. 

It aches as much as it is a relief, and despite his exhaustion, Will preempts any move on Hannibal’s part to start in on causing Will’s third orgasm by pulling out and pushing himself down Hannibal’s body, their previous positioning making it so Hannibal’s legs fall on Will’s shoulders. Will keeps his eyes on Hannibal as he takes his slick and hard cock in hand, stroking it as he mouths at the head. Hannibal pushes himself up to watch, expression still dark, and it seems to catch them both by surprise when he comes. He’s mostly out of Will’s mouth when it happens, and they both gasp as he comes onto Will’s cheek, his throat, all over his pink mouth.

There is a respite as they both sprawl out to catch their breath, now only touching where their hands are still tightly entwined. Will is further down the bed, and looks up only to see Hannibal looking down toward him. Will can’t help but smile, even as he’s trying to wipe Hannibal’s release off of his face. 

“Forgive me for saying so,” Hannibal starts. His voice is so rough Will smiles even wider. “But you seem very happy here.”

Will’s grin falters. “I don’t know to what ‘here’ you are referring, or in comparison to what.”

Hannibal looks almost loath to elaborate, but he does. “Since our death.”

Will hesitates, lets go of Hannibal’s hand. “If you’re looking for validation, I don’t know what to give you that I haven’t already.”

“It was just an observation, Will.” Hannibal moves down the bed so they’re face to face, but Will doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He’s hesitant even as Hannibal begins to kiss him, so very soft. “And, if you please, something I feel is worth remarking on.”

“You’ve always had interesting timing,” Will murmurs, appeased enough to start returning Hannibal’s soft kisses. 

“Do you think so?” Hannibal takes Will by the hips, his touch as gentle as his mouth. “I thought you would appreciate a moment‘s peace before what happens next.”

“Ominous,” Will says, smile returning. He reaches to take one of Hannibal’s hands and place it against his soft, spent cock. “Don’t start going easy on me  _ now _ .”

“Never,” Hannibal promises, and he tightens his grip on Will’s cock. 

Will laughs as much as he’s able, a chortled out groan, when he immediately accidentally kicks Hannibal in the shin, his body reacting with a start and without his own input to the sudden overstimulation. Hannibal huffs out a breathy laugh too, pressing closer to Will even as he continues to twitch and thrash out. _It’s almost embarrassing_ , Will thinks, to not have control of his body like this, but more than anything else it’s unerringly hot. 

“Feverish enough for you, Dr. Lecter?” Will bites out, shocked by the high pitch of his voice. It’s hard to even open his mouth, with how his teeth are gritted in response to the sensation- not quite pain, but certainly not anything resembling the conventional idea of pleasure- of Hannibal attempting to get his cock hard again. Will wonders if he’ll even be _able_ to come again, what will happen if he can’t, how long and how far Hannibal will go. “Are you reminded of the convulsions you nurtured in me?” This time when he knees Hannibal hard in the upper thigh, it’s less of an accident. 

Hannibal growls, and moves quickly enough that Will has no notion to try to resist it. Hannibal releases him only to immediately pull him over so he’s tucked against him completely, back to chest, and then Hannibal is throwing one leg over Will’s in order to hold them stationary, and doing the same thing with the arm under them both, threading it around Will’s forearms, so his arms are tucked up against his chest, the extent of his movement there now being the ability to flex his wrists. Will fights it, not especially seriously, and then tries a bit harder when he realizes exactly how tightly Hannibal is holding him. 

“You might hurt yourself,” Hannibal says, quiet and rough in Will’s ear. “You need to be restrained.” 

Will moans brokenly. He thinks of the straight jackets they’d both worn, and he knows he will definitely be able to come again now. 

Hannibal works his cock rapidly as he keeps him stationary, the real extent of Will’s movements being the thrashing of his neck and flexing of his ankles and wrists as he writhes in Hannibal’s grasp. Hannibal’s breath is heavy in his ear, his muscles straining to hold Will in place. Will’s primary emotion for Hannibal in this moment is gratitude- he’s grateful for Hannibal’s strength and willingness, how Will doesn’t have to worry about accidentally breaking out of his grip, or hurting him. He can truly be mindless, lost, nearing delirious. Hannibal’s hand on his cock is so overwhelming he can feel the ache all the way down in the flats of his feet, and his body fights to squirm away even as he truly wants nothing else than for Hannibal to make him come again. Now, more than anything else like this they’ve done- and more than any other sexual act he’s done in his life-, Will feels as if it is an almost entirely mental experience. He- his mind, his consciousness, his soul,  _ whatever _ \- is experiencing mind-numbing pleasure, and his body is just along for the ride. 

Eventually, not very long at all, the fight in Will’s body starts to give out- he feels his legs start to tremble, the muscles in his stomach jumping. He is very close, and his pleasure is in Hannibal’s hands, quite literally. Sensing it, Hannibal loosens his hold on him- he is not being held back anymore, but simply held- and tilts forward so the side of his face is pressed against Will's, so Will can feel his breath glancing past his cheek as he speaks. 

“You need more, don’t you?” Hannibal says, so loud this very close. “Tell me.”

“More,” Will says. He doesn’t know how he can be expected to speak, when all he’s been able to manage the past few minutes is quiet whimpers. He feels something near nauseous, the way his body is tensing and so close to release. “I need more, yes.”

“Beautiful,” Hannibal says. Will’s been called beautiful by him near countless times in the past few months, but there’s something in the way he says it now that seems like the thought is being forced from him- Will has never before had to reckon himself with being an object of arousal in such a way. He hadn’t even known he wanted to, or that he could be. 

“Yours,” Will forces out. “It’s all I care about anymore. Being yours. Being with you.”

“Will,” Hannibal says, sounded winded, “Will.” His grip around Will’s arms and chest tightens, worse than it even was when Hannibal was restraining him. With that in addition to everything else, Will can hardly catch his breath. 

Hannibal lets go of Will’s cock, and Will cries out, might even actually scream. But then Hannibal is pressing his hand done to brush over Will’s balls, turns it to grip hard at the inside of his thigh. Will is holding his breath, is holding tears back, when Hannibal lets go and brings his hand back up to pump Will’s cock one- two- three times and  _ that- _ the sudden release and recapture, the horror and relief- that is what makes Will choke out a gasp and finally come. 

Will isn’t even sure if it’s dry, but it might as well be, for all it feels ripped out of him. The physicality of it is secondary to how it rattles him internally, makes him feel wound up and unstrung all at once. He doesn’t know how he’ll catch his breath, how he’ll ever breathe again. He doesn’t black out, and he doesn’t quite fall asleep, but he does feel not all there. The closest thing he can compare it to is the quiet drugged up peace he would awaken to when they were in their recovery right after the fall- before the pain set in and all Will knew was that he was alive, and that he was with Hannibal, and nothing else mattered at all.

He comes to in a similar way as well. He becomes slowly aware of his aches, his thirst, his desire to see Hannibal. He’s on his back now, and he feels that Hannibal is as well next to him, has one arm around Will, firm around his shoulders. His body feels bone-tired,  _ also _ not dissimilar to the early days after the cliff, when getting up to walk to the bathroom had been a feat. He’s glad they’re already in bed. He’s somewhat less glad when, once he finally feels alive enough to do so, he glances over at Hannibal and sees him looking at Will like he’s even more fascinating than usual.

“Time for a performance review?” Will’s throat is wrecked. He hopes they have cough drops hidden away somewhere. Maybe he’ll ask Hannibal for hot tea and honey. 

“I should have known making you more tense wouldn’t have been successful,” Hannibal says, in the timbre of a scientist looking back over an experiment. His voice isn’t doing much better and that- along with how disheveled he looks all together- makes something tender ache in Will’s chest, even as he sets in to have a  _ discussion _ , when he’d much rather just go to sleep. 

“Is  _ that _ the point of this? To relax me?” Will asks, almost incredulous.

“I did tell you you needed to be more relaxed with yourself,” Hannibal says. 

“You weren’t talking about sex at the time.”

“Not directly. I wouldn’t be the first to draw a comparison between sex and murder.” 

“‘Everything is about sex except sex?’” Will quotes, half sardonic.

“‘Which is about power’,” Hannibal answers, fond. And then, curious- “Do you feel powerful during sex?”

“I feel…” Will hesitates, feeling the words form in his mouth. It’s an odd thing to confess. Not something he would have dared himself to think about before this, before Hannibal. “Overwhelmed with power during sex. When  _ we _ have sex, even like this. Especially like this.”

“And that, I believe,” Hannibal says, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can cup Will’s face with both hands, “is the point of this.”

Will thinks about power. He thinks of the cliff. He wishes he remembered it clearer. He wishes he were still there.

“You’ve never participated in this with a partner before,” Hannibal says, much later on. It isn’t a question. “Too afraid that if you indulged in elements of violence and control in bed, it would seep out elsewhere.”

Will shrugs as much as he can wrapped up in Hannibal’s arms against his chest. He supposes that’s the gist of it. It’s been a few hours, they’ve had a shower and a hearty dinner and walked around the property and returned to bed. Will has been given his tea and honey, without even having to ask. He still feels boneless and hazy; this makes him more forgiving toward Hannibal’s psychoanalysis. 

“There’s so much pleasure you’ve denied yourself.” 

Will is near certain it’s not intended to be a dig, but he still feels tendrils of annoyance pop up in his gut. He thinks of the wendigo, dark eyed and expressionless. It’s hard to reconcile the creature with the Hannibal he knows now, but they were one in the same, once. 

“You’ve denied yourself pleasure too,” Will says into Hannibal’s shoulder. They’re wrapped together so tightly, and the dry heat is so suffocating, Will isn’t sure how he stands it. 

“What pleasures have I been denying myself, Will?” Hannibal is tensed up ever so slightly. Will feels as though he could write an encyclopedia on the varied reactions and micro-expressions of Hannibal Lecter and never quite be able to completely nail him down. The fact that Hannibal feels the same about Will, if not doubly so, is only a small comfort. 

_ Family _ , Will thinks, the words coming to him as if someone was speaking through him.  _ Trust. Love. _ Will is closing on the edge of sleep and in his mind he sees Hannibal, that night in Baltimore. A man who had dared to allow himself to want something, only to lose it. Hannibal has forgiven him for many things, things he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill anyone else over. But he had been lying when he had said he forgave Will, that night. Will had known it then and he knew it now. Will can’t blame him. He hasn’t forgiven himself either. “Me. All of me.”

“Is that true?” Hannibal asks, and he sounds faraway. He tugs Will’s hair once before petting it and then curling around Will more solidly. “What a pair we make then.” 

Will sleeps soundly. If Hannibal doesn’t, he doesn’t let Will know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im posting another wip shhhhhhh........ this one really is mostly written so is2g there wont be months long waits lol. i even have a release schedule:  
> chapter 2 will go up the 19th; chapter 3 the 23rd; chapter 4 the 28th; and chapter 5 the 1st of april.
> 
> hope you all enjoy!! much love <3


	2. Chapter 2

Things continue on as they have. The two of them are leisurely in most things, and exceedingly comfortable with each other. Will can’t help the thought that they’re just living out an over-long vacation and will soon have to return to something less simple. He has no interest in forcing it, and Hannibal doesn't seem to either, but anxiety at the idea of their life suddenly changing irrevocably keeps him on edge in the quiet moments. He distracts himself from such thoughts with books he never thought he'd have time to read, work that is simple and makes good use of his hand, and the benefits of cohabiting with Hannibal; namely, good conversation and good sex. Especially the last two. 

Will is rarely alone in the house- when Hannibal leaves, he prefers to accompany him the majority of the time- or he at least prefers for  _ Hannibal _ to not be doing anything alone. Whether it’s paranoia, or concern, or neediness, Will has little interest in looking into it too deeply. It’s one of the rare times that he  _ is _ alone, then, when it happens: Will’s doing the dishes, finishes drying off a skimmer, and goes to put it in the caddy with the rest of the oft-used utensils. When he drops it in, his fingers brush against the smooth surface of a wooden spoon. Will gently pulls it out, holds it in his hands like something precious. He flushes when he thinks about the time Hannibal had slapped it against his wrist, and fidgets when he recalls the furious masturbation session that had followed. It is an easy enough train of thought to continue down, imagining how else Hannibal might use the spoon on him. 

Suddenly, he’s even more eager than usual for Hannibal to get home. 

***

When Hannibal does return home with two canvas bags of groceries, Will commandeers them and less-than-gently suggests that Hannibal go upstairs to the bedroom and relax from his venture. He knows he isn’t getting away with anything- Hannibal’s demeanor switched from fondly domestic to roguishly joyful the minute he walked through the front door and Will greeted him with a firm kiss on the mouth and flushed cheeks- but Hannibal plays along, good-naturedly thanking Will for handling the groceries and then disappearing up the staircase.

Will has to psyche himself up for almost three minutes even after he hurriedly puts the groceries away, pacing in the downstairs hallway and considering forgetting the whole thing. The spoon seems oddly heavy against his palm, the grip of his fingers around it so very tight. He wonders if he should have waited at least until tonight, if his overeagerness before it’s even three in the afternoon is unwelcome. He finally brings himself back to reality with the thought of how Hannibal, of all people, would not and had no right to judge Will over something so minor as a kink, and then the reminder that not once since they’ve started sleeping together has Hannibal ever done anything close to turning him down. When Will appears in the doorway of their bedroom, where Hannibal sits on the end of the bed removing his shoes and socks, jacket, waistcoat, and tie already put away, he is flushed with excitement instead of anxiety.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal slides his shoes slightly under the bed, out of the way, his attention now fully on Will. His gaze flickers briefly to Will’s hands hidden behind his back before meeting his eyes again. “Did you bring me a gift?”

“No. Not really,” Will is pleased that he’s feeling his nerves as anticipation, a light sense of agitation that makes him fidgety and unguarded. It’s still a novel feeling to get to share so openly with a person he loves without fear of judgement. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. “Though I do think you’ll like it. Close your eyes?”

Hannibal gives Will a fond look before doing so, eyes blinking shut. Will thinks he looks beautiful, expression clear and honest. Will is overcome with affection, which makes this easy. He takes four long steps forward so he’s standing right in front of Hannibal, who spreads his legs slightly to make room for him. 

“Hands,” Will says lightly. Hannibal presents them upturned, and Will’s eyes can't help but catch on where his unbuttoned shirt cuffs reveal the faded scars running the length of the inside of his wrists.

Will takes Hannibal’s left hand and brings it to his own hip, leans into it until Hannibal slides his hand over to grab Will’s ass, squeezing hard enough that he raises up on his toes a little. Hannibal, eyes still closed, smirks, and Will finds it incredibly arousing, imagining how Hannibal would make the same expression while spanking him. In the other hand, Will places the handle of the wooden spoon. He sees Hannibal’s recognition almost as soon as he grips it, and Will is only able to half-watch Hannibal’s face as he tilts his head in curiosity. 

“You’ve been rummaging around my kitchen,” Hannibal says, eyes still closed. Will tenses up in some kind of uneasy pleasure at the light admonishment in his tone. 

“Am I not allowed?” Will asks, cringing a little at the puerilely in his tone even as he intentionally affects it. This part of it, the play-acting of amateurism, Will finds impossible not to feel somewhat foolish doing, even as he enjoys the result of it- even as Hannibal _especially_ enjoys it. 

“You’re allowed to go anywhere you want. You’re allowed anything you want. What do you want, Will?”

“Did I not make it clear enough for you?” Will asks, coming out of his giddy mindset a little. He thought he was making it pretty damn obvious. 

“You said you didn’t want me to hit you, before,” Hannibal says, tone neutral. 

“I can't change my mind?”

“I’m simply curious why you did.”

“I’m asking you to have kinky sex with me and all you want to do is analyze my decisions?” Will takes a step back, and Hannibal opens his eyes, the hand that was on Will falling to his lap and his other hand with a loose grip on the wooden spoon. 

“It’s not  _ all _ I want to do,” Hannibal says, and the suggestive way he says it makes Will feel a little better about the analytical assault. “I am simply asking you what kind of place this decision came from.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. Since you hit me with the spoon before, honestly. I just wasn’t sure how this all was going to go. But I want to, now.”

Hannibal’s expression is still contemplative, and Will has to hold back a sigh. He had told Hannibal not to hit him, and he had said he wouldn’t unless Will asked him too. It had been a reassurance at the time, but it was something else now. Will will get what he wants, but only if he asks. There will be no goading Hannibal into this. He steps back into Hannibal’s space and then further, straddling his lap and wrapping around him as Hannibal sets aside the spoon and brings both arms up around his back. 

“I want you to take care of me. Take me in hand. Make me feel it.” Will breathes in where his face is pressed hard against Hannibal’s shoulder, the smell of him soothing him and stimulating him in one. “I feel like I shouldn’t tell you this.”

“Please,” Hannibal says, the fluctuation in his tone shocking Will a little. “Tell me.”

“Part of me always liked it, to some degree, when you hurt me.” Though he’s being quiet, his words ring loudly in his own head. It feels like showing his belly to a beast, something inherently exposing- but it’s not like that is an uncommon feeling for him, in regard to Hannibal. “I don’t know if I was just feeling what you felt, or if my brain is just that fucked up but- I liked it. And now you’ll only hurt me when I ask, how I ask… can you give that to me, Hannibal?”

“Anything,” Hannibal says, holding him so tight. “You know I’d give you anything.”

“Then do it.”

Despite himself, Will is a little shocked when Hannibal half-stands and then turns to drop Will onto the bed. Will bounces a little, and scoots himself backward, only for Hannibal to take hold of both his ankles and pull him back closer to them, then using his hands to get Will into the positions he wants for him: on his elbows and knees, back arched and head hanging down between his shoulders, toes pointed and calves straight, his jeans and underwear pulled down past his knees and ankles and pushed to the ground. Will’s arousal comes back hard, and he feels a little precarious in his position, like he might topple over just from sheer feeling. Never once in his life before Hannibal did it dawn on him to even consider the idea that he would feel so strongly about being maneuvered around in such a way. There is no doubt now. 

“You’ll let me know if you’ve had enough, or if you wish to stop.” It’s not a question, and Will just nods.

The first hit of the spoon surprises him despite himself, makes him jerk and gasp. It’s a sharp and focused pain, extremely unfamiliar against Will’s ass. He’s not entirely sure he likes it. After a few more hits- the repeated  _ thwap _ s loud in the quiet of the room, the attention on him and his pleasure unnerving instead of gratifying- Will is certain he doesn’t. 

“How do you feel?” Hannibal stops, spoon pressed against the back of Will’s thighs. His tone makes it quite clear he's already aware of Will's answer.

“Fine. It’s not awful. It’s- I don’t like it.” It’s both a relief to say it, and a disappointment to admit it. 

Hannibal spanks him with the spoon a handful more times to the same effect before Will hears it fall to the bed. Will thinks that if Hannibal was a more compassionate man, he would have stopped when Will said he didn’t like it, but it’s not like Will doesn’t know who he’s thrown his lot in with. 

“You do look lovely,” Hannibal says, trailing a hand softly over Will’s hips, avoiding where his ass is stinging. “You’re becoming quite pink already.” He reaches around and touches Will’s mostly soft cock in the same ginger way before pulling back and placing the flat of his hand against the back of Will’s thigh. “Stay as you are, please.”

“Okay,” Will says, quiet and somewhat uncertain. Then his mind blanks out as Hannibal suddenly spreads his cheeks and swipes his tongue hard against his hole. Will cries out, back arching even further, as Hannibal holds him firmly by the hips and licks into him, wet and voracious. If this is Will’s consolation prize, then he supposes he can’t complain.

Will relaxes into the treatment, luxuriating in how Hannibal’s tongue lights him up with sensitivity and presses into his hole with promise. Will is about to suggest Hannibal get his fingers involved when suddenly, Hannibal pulls one of his hands back and brings it down sharply against Will’s ass. 

Will is shocked by his own loud moan, by the way his now-hard cock leaks. By how  _ hot _ he feels all over. “Oh,” he breathes out, squirming. Hannibal spanks him again, just as hard, and takes his mouth off of him. Another spank, this time even harder, as Hannibal has stepped away and has full range of movement. Will falls forward, face into his buckled arms, moans steadily into his forearms, disbelieving of how it feels. He’s burning up, on edge from the rimming cut short and pushed off that edge by the strength of Hannibal’s hand. He almost thinks that this is what he was _expecting_ it to feel like, when he had the idea for it in the kitchen, but it isn’t- this is much beyond what he had even considered. 

“And now?” Hannibal says, and it takes a few seconds for Will to understand what he’s asking. “How do you feel now, Will?”

“Yes,” Will says, even though that’s not quite an answer. “More, please.” 

Hannibal’s answering intake of breath betrays him, even as he recovers quickly enough for his voice to be even and impartial when he says- “Good boy,” and starts spanking Will in a slow, frustrating rhythm- just enough time for Will to recover from the instant pain from the slap and begin to anticipate the next before it happens. 

If Will thought he was burning before, then he doesn’t know how to begin to describe how he feels now, aching all over as he takes Hannibal’s hand, cock dripping and untouched, throat becoming wrecked from his loud cries. He feels like something unhinged, sweat sticking his shirt to his back, writhing back against and away from Hannibal’s strikes as they continue. 

He’s half-panting as Hannibal starts to slow, and then stops, but Will’s arousal stays at a frustratingly consistent level- the pain is here to stay now. A reminder. He hopes it stays for days. Hannibal kneels back onto the bed and presses a wet kiss to his coccyx, works his way up kissing each knob of his spine all the way up until he’s breathing in hard at his neck. 

“You’re a vision,” Hannibal says, low and gravely in Will’s ear. He has the length of his body pressed against Will’s. 

“Hannibal,” Will says. “Fuck.” They seem to be the only two words he can come up with, and he laughs, light and loud and joyful, even through his heavy breaths. 

“Will. My love.” Hannibal laughs a little too, mostly under his breath. He shifts a little, hands circling Will’s waist. Will imagines he can feel the heat of the hand Hannibal had used to spank him on his side, even through the material of his shirt. 

Will’s about to say something, though he’s not sure what, he’s just opening his mouth again, but he’s shocked silent when Hannibal shifts up a little and he can feel the rough material of Hannibal’s slacks against where he’s burning, can feel the cool metal of Hannibal’s belt buckle there as well. 

They both freeze, breaths catching in unison. Will has never been so thankful for their twin minds, for the way their understanding of each other permeates through every moment of their lives together. He isn't sure he could ask for if Hannibal didn't already know, but of course he does. 

“Yes-” Will is saying, even as Hannibal brings his hands up to unbuckle his belt and says, “Will, is this-” and Will is saying “yes, yes, Hannibal,  _ yes _ ” through it all as Hannibal stands up, takes a step away from the bed, and brings the belt down against his ass, twice in quick succession, barely a pause between them. Tears smart in Will’s eyes; it knocks the breath out of him. Hannibal isn’t holding much back, and it hurts, badly, much worse than Hannibal’s hand or the spoon, but Will isn’t very shocked that his automatic reaction isn’t to flinch away but to arch into it, raising his ass higher into the air and biting his lip until it’s throbbing. It doesn’t feel  _ good _ , per se, but it does  _ make him _ feel good. Will wants to feel good. 

Hannibal  _ does _ seem surprised, letting out a soft gasp before hitting him again- making Will moan loud and clear, all pleasure- and then once more across his thighs. Will is squirming even as he wants it, the lack of control over his own behavior something foreign that is gradually becoming gradually familiar. Hannibal’s pace is much more varied now, each hit a surprise for Will. He imagines Hannibal documenting how Will’s skin reddens, how Will reacts slightly differently each time. Hannibal will enjoy the novelty of it, Will knows, as much as anything else- and Will is so thrilled that he can give that to Hannibal. He hasn’t any idea how long has passed when he hears the swish-clink of the belt hitting the floor, and feels Hannibal kneeling back onto the bed, taking a hold of Will’s hips but still a distance away, not touching him anywhere else. 

“Tell me what you want, Will.” He sounds as needy as Will feels. 

“Hannibal,” Will whines. He has to intentionally calm himself to find the ability to speak anymore than that, full sentences are evading him. Finally- “I want to come. I want your hands again, hard. I wanna feel it, make me feel it.” 

Will wonders if he’s gonna get what he wants when Hannibal releases his hips to pull him back gently by his shoulders and helps Will tug his shirt off, but then he pulls him back gently by his shoulders, and turns him to the side, so he’s sitting on his knees facing Hannibal, who is now sitting on the end of the bed, twisting to get a good look at Will’s face. Will isn’t crying but his face is red, his hair a mess, his lips bitten sore. He can’t imagine what his eyes look like. He keeps his gaze down for a moment, eyes drawn to the crude bulge of Hannibal’s hard cock in his slacks. The evidence that Hannibal is so aroused by simply hitting Will is a sickly pleasant sort of validation Will didn’t know he needed. When he finally brings himself to look up at Hannibal’s face, his expression isn't smug and aroused as Will was expecting, and more purely enamored. 

“You’re going to have bruises,” Hannibal says. His voice is rough and warm, a sound more soothing to Will than running water. Will doesn’t know what to say to that, but it doesn’t matter, because then Hannibal is slowly positioning Will over his lap. 

_ It’s different like this _ , Will thinks, as he squirms in Hannibal’s lap as his lover starts to spank him again. For one, despite the endlessly increasing pain, there’s a degree of comfort in feeling Hannibal’s warm body near him. For another, more pressing point: like this, Will’s cock is wet and hard against Hannibal’s thighs, and Hannibal is nothing but encouraging of Will making a mess of his slacks and thrusting harder against him with each slap. Will has the nonsensical, obscene thought that he would like to stay like this forever, Hannibal pushing him to his limit both in terms of pleasure and pain at once. But in reality, Hannibal doesn’t give him any more than fifteen swats before he is turning Will over onto his back, still over Hannibal’s lap but his legs and upper body supported by the bed. Will sees himself as Hannibal sees him in this moment, and he is a beautiful mess, taken apart and desperate, pink-faced and wide blue eyes shining. 

Will’s vision goes fuzzy when Hannibal begins to jerk him off with short, efficient strokes. 

“Be a good boy, Will,” Hannibal says. Will can feel the shape of Hannibal’s hard cock against his sore ass as Will thrashes in his lap. “Dear thing, come for me.” 

And that’s all it takes- Will’s in coming, arching up one last time, panting. Hannibal works him through it, the hand not on his cock petting soothingly through his hair. Will’s senses come back to him slowly- first the pain, then the satisfaction at the pain, then the love for Hannibal for having given it to him. Will is smiling when he opens his eyes to look at Hannibal, and Hannibal is smiling too. 

***

Afterward, Hannibal had tugged Will over him onto the bed, had held him until Will had stopped clutching, and then had returned after about twenty minutes later with a glass of orange juice and a bottle of lotion. 

Presently, Will is lying on his belly and holding the orange juice with both hands in front of him, sipping at it with a straw. Will requests orange juice from Hannibal near every day, finding an almost illicit thrill in having something so simple and indulgent done for him on request, even while knowing there is much, much more than making him juice that Hannibal would do for him if he asked. It's freshly squeezed every time, and almost excessively sweet, the way fruit only tastes in a memory. He sips at it slowly, savoring. Hannibal has been finished with rubbing lotion on Will’s throbbing ass and thighs for at least a few minutes- which, while cooling, only seemed to make it even more difficult for Will to stop thinking about the sweet ache. Hannibal, however, has  _ not _ finished staring at him. 

It’s been long enough to make Will feel somewhat self-conscious- especially since Hannibal is still mostly dressed- even though he both anticipated this and finds pleasure in it. Hannibal will want to look at him like this until the redness and bruises fade, Will knows. Will doesn’t pretend to be ignorant about Hannibal’s particular affection for his ass, and this will surely just encourage him. Is already encouraging him, Will realizes, when he jerks away in surprise when Hannibal suddenly smacks him again, more noise than anything else, but still startling against sore skin. 

“Christ, Hannibal, give me a couple minutes,” Will turns on his side, one hand keeping the cup of juice steady. He gives Hannibal what he intends to be an annoyed frown, but quickly dissolves into something much more fond when he sees how simply captivated Hannibal still looks. 

“Just a couple of minutes?”

“A few days, maybe.” Will lays back on his stomach, but keeps an eye on Hannibal, only relaxing when once Hannibal places a hand on his ass again much more gently. His touch is barely there as he runs his hand up to the small of Will’s back down to almost his knees- then finally settles, more firmly, over a spot aching badly Will assumes it’s one of the future bruises. Will doesn’t think they’ll last that long, catches himself off guard when he realizes he’d like them to last a very long time. Maybe Hannibal won’t be the only one checking out Will’s ass more than usual the next few days. “Definitely a repeat experiment though.”

Hannibal squeezes his hand on Will’s rear, still very gentle. “It means more to me than I thought to see you enjoy yourself so fully. I find myself happy for you on your own behalf.”

“That’s an unfamiliar feeling for you,” Will says, not a question or a judgment.

“It brings me pleasure to give you the things you want. It brings me pleasure to be witness to your vitality, your  shamelessness . That is not unfamiliar.” Hannibal’s voice is almost melancholy. “But I could have never anticipated feeling so strongly about the simple idea of your joy.” 

“I appreciate everything you give me,” Will says, as earnest as he can. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

Hannibal ducks his head in assent, and gracefully takes from Will the now empty glass he’s about to let fall out of his hands. Will watches with a small, lethargic smile as Hannibal places the glass on the nightstand, puts away any clothes littering the bed and floor. 

“Wait,” Will says, something dawning on him and clearing the remaining fog in his head. “You didn’t get off.”

Hannibal gives Will a small smile, opens his mouth to say something obviously placating, but Will cuts him off- “Let me. You were so hard. I could feel it.”

“You can make it up to me tonight.” Hannibal says, coming to stand near to where Will is still stretched out on the bed. “There are actually chores I would like to get to today, before you distract me again.”

Will flushes a little, but keeps Hannibal’s gaze. “What do you have in mind? For… indemnification.”

“Whatever you like,” Hannibal says, smooth as ever.

“I asked what  _ you  _ want.” Will pushes himself off the bed and turns directly into Hannibal’s space. If Will was on his toes, they’d be nose to nose. His palms land on Hannibal’s chest, fingertips teasing along the collar of his shirt.

“Not my good boy anymore, are you?” Hannibal is holding Will’s waist with one hand, has the other up to cup his cheek and keep their gazes aligned.

“No,” Will says. He turns his face more into Hannibal’s palm but doesn’t look away. “Just the person who wants to fuck you ‘til you cry.”

“Oh?” The spark in Hannibal’s eyes, the tensing on his hand on Will’s side, is immensely pleasing to Will. “I thought this was about what  _ I _ want.”

“It is. You want that?”

Before Will can even finish, Hannibal is kissing him hard, tongue pushing into his mouth immediately. Will realizes they didn’t kiss, during their play, haven’t kissed at all since Hannibal got home, and he sighs happily. Hannibal’s tongue in his mouth, Hannibal’s soft lips pressing into his; it’s become a comfort in a way Will could have never expected. Will licks at his lower lip and then nips it before pulling away, can’t help but smile when Hannibal’s mouth chases after him. 

“Nuh-uh. You said tonight. Something about chores.” Will pulls out of Hannibal’s grasp and walks to the en-suite, giddily aware of the intense way Hannibal is staring at him as he goes.  _ Yes _ , he thinks, _ this makes me feel  _ powerful _. _

***

Will knows, of course, that Hannibal is going to want to  _ talk  _ about things, because there is nothing more Hannibal enjoys than prying confessions and rationalizations from Will and then chewing them up to spit back at him. _If he can’t consume my body,_ Will thinks, _he’s going to make due with everything else he can get from me._

Will also knows that Hannibal wanting to talk about the new aspects of their physical relationship is probably the most healthy and normal thing about them, and it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy discussing most anything with Hannibal, no matter the topic, but he still believes he gets to hold some annoyance over the fact that- curiosity and care aside- Hannibal gets far too much enjoyment out of making him blush. 

The conversation doesn’t come until a few days later, when they’re together in the den. It’s not even close to the time that they usually retire to bed, but Will has had a long day of working at the marina, fixing things around the house, and flare-ups. He’s better, now, after some muscle relaxants and an exuberantly rich dinner, but he’s still exhausted and knows the second his back hits their plush bed, he’s gonna be out like a light. But his mind is hazy and pleased, and the fire a few feet away is so warm, and Hannibal so close to him is even warmer; Will has the childlike desire to not  _ want _ to fall asleep, not wanting this lovely night to end.

He’s straddling Hannibal’s lap and they’re exchanging long, lazy kisses, hands roaming but not over-eager, all of their clothes still on but rucked up and ruffled. The feel of Hannibal’s shoulders and arms, cords of muscle that flex as Will runs his hands over them, is unerringly attractive. For his part, Hannibal has one hand stationed on Will’s rear, and the other is tucked up under the front of his shirt, has been petting back and forth over the scar on Will’s stomach. It’s a bit obvious, but Will supposes they have little reason not to be these days. 

“I’m not sore anymore,” Will says, quiet and thoughtful, into Hannibal’s mouth. 

Hannibal hums, squeezes his handful of Will’s ass. “Bruises nearly faded as well.”

“Wanna give me some new ones?” It thrills Will something awful to say it, even as he can’t do it without flushing. Hannibal’s answering smirk doesn’t help. “You should tie me up this time.” 

“Perhaps when you’re not falling asleep in my lap, my dear,” Hannibal whispers in his ear.

Will huffs, pulling away and sitting back so he’s resting on Hannibal’s knees. He is right though- Will’s eyelids  _ do _ feel distractingly heavy. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Will,” Hannibal says, tone worryingly diplomatic. “I have been curious- do you have any thoughts as to why you preferred my hand and belt over the spoon?”

_Ah_ , Will thinks, _here’s the talk_. He isn’t surprised Hannibal picked a time when Will is being especially agreeable. “It wasn’t the implement. You just took me out of it, making me talk about it before. Not that I don’t want you to talk to me before you do things to me, I was just unsettled. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you out of nowhere.”

“It _was_ a lovely surprise,” Hannibal concedes, the miniscule smile on his face so saccharine it makes Will roll his eyes almost on instinct. “I do hope that in the end the experience lived up to your expectations.” 

“You know it did,” Will grumbles, falling into a  peaceful silence as he leans his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, as Hannibal runs his hands up Will’s back. There is something he has been wanting to get out in the open, however. Now, sleepy and slightly drugged and everything fuzzy, he supposes it's as good a time as any. “Hannibal- I’m admitting to a lot, with this. But you need to know. I’m not interested in being actually hurt. I don’t want you to take me liking something like this and running with it.” 

Hannibal’s hands stop on his shoulders. “I would appreciate some clarity on what being ‘actually hurt’ entails. I left you with bruises for days, Will.”

“Yes,” Will says, pulling back a bit but not meeting Hannibal’s eyes, focuses instead on his mouth. “And you’ve left me in the hospital for months before.” 

The silence is less peaceful, now. Will half-watches as the openness in Hannibal’s face shudders closed.

“I’m familiar with the position of physical violence in our relationship,” Will says, soft. “I don’t... I like this, Hannibal. What we’re doing. What you’re doing for me. I like how it makes me feel. I hope I don’t have to ask you to not ruin this by hurting me in a way I won’t like. In a way that will make me feel… unsafe.”

“I’m not particularly interested in forcing you to do something you don’t want,” Hannibal says after a long moment. “It was only ever my greatest wish that you accept what you are.” The following  _ and what I am as well  _ remains unspoken. “This is your passage, Will. If you want to lead, then all I ask is that you let me follow. And that you give me enough instruction that I am able to keep you safe.”

“Keeping an open line of conversation,” Will agrees, finally burying his face back into Hannibal’s throat. Will thinks it might be his favorite place to be. 

They stay there until Will truly is falling asleep, and Hannibal cajoles him into heading upstairs. Will does so lazily as Hannibal tends to killing the fire and locking the doors. When Will finishes brushing his teeth and washing his face in the en-suite, he finds Hannibal sitting on the edge of the bed, expression on his face that he only has when he’s debating telling Will something. Will has learned that he rarely decides _ not _ to tell him, but that Hannibal has learned to use his hesitance as a sort of warning to Will to adjust his expectations. 

“What?” Will asks drily. When Hannibal doesn’t immediately answer, Will goes to him, runs his hands through his silver hair, and looks down at him sitting on the bed. Much softer, he says- “What is it?” 

“Will. I say this only because of how much I treasure what we have now.” Hannibal’s voice is even, but his eyes when he looks up at Will are hard. “I love you, and there are few slights from you I would not allow. I am not going to use the spaces in which we play with submission and pain to order hurt you irreparably. But I will not be taken for a fool by you again.”

“I understand,” Will says, having to force the casualness in his tone. Yes, he does understand. Sex is sex, but in the reality of their world together there are things Will could do and say that would get him somewhere much worse than a linoleum blade in his gut. The scar on his forehead, of which Hannibal is much less fond of than the one on his stomach, attests to that. “Do we shake on it?”

Instead Hannibal gently tugs him forward by the hips, buries his face in Will’s stomach. Will places one hand on his neck, leaves one in his feather-soft hair. Hannibal smoothes his hands down Will’s lower back and settles on his lower back, casually proprietary. 

“What is wrong with me,” Will says, irony edging in, “that I still want you to tie me up and hit me with a belt after hearing you threaten me with God knows what?”

“I believe what’s wrong with you, is that you trust me,” Hannibal says, muffled into Will’s shirt. “For better or for worse.”

Will huffs a quiet laugh, bends to press a kiss into the top of his head, smells the familiar scent of the shampoo they both use- almost faded by now- and exhales slowly. “In sickness and in health.”

“You undo me,” Hannibal says after a few moments, so quiet Will barely hears it. 

_You undid me first_ , Will thinks, but he remains silent, holding Hannibal close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday, much love <3   
> chapter 3 will be up on tuesday


	3. Chapter 3

One day, Hannibal comes home with groceries and an odd aura of serenity. It instantly puts Will on edge. He’s been accompanying Hannibal to the store less and less- not out of decreased desire to be near him but out of increased comfort with their position both in the world at large and with each other. Will likes to think his attitude when Hannibal is away has developed from anxiety to simple ( _relatively healthy_ , Will tells himself) anticipation for when he’ll be back, and pleasure at seeing him walk in the front door of their home. 

At the moment, however, pleasure is tinged with a heavy amount of wariness. It’s not even a specific action or expression that gives him away, but something Will can only chalk up to his own intuition magnified by his particular interest in Hannibal. 

They’ve already kissed hello at the door and exchanged simple platitudes about their respective mornings, and usually Will would leave Hannibal to his kitchen and entertain himself, but instead he follows him. He seats himself at the breakfast bar, runs his fingers back and forth across the ledge. Hannibal pays him no mind. 

“Anything happen at the store today?” Will asks, annoyed at himself for not coming up with something more subtle. 

“It was a predictably mediocre expedition,” Hannibal says. Will’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and sure enough- “A remarkably rude young woman was focused on her phone, instead of the road, and bumped into our car at a stoplight. No harm done, to myself or the car, but it was a damper on an otherwise pleasant outing.”

Will feels his stomach drop, not able to help it. _Surely_ , Will thinks, not entirely certain at all, _surely he would not wait for me to ask, if something had happened. If he had done something._

“Is she in the trunk of the car?” Will asks as calmly as he can.

“She is not,” Hannibal says, just as casual but with much more success. “Though I do wonder what your reaction would be if she was.”

“Let’s not cross that bridge until we come to it,” Will says, and marches out of the kitchen to go splash his face with frigid water in the bathroom. 

***

Dinner is a quiet, awkward affair- an herb-filled stew of mussels, squid, and prawns is the accompaniment to their uncharacteristically stilted conversation. 

Will can’t help his unease, and Hannibal- clearly armoured in some sort of smug contentment in response to Will’s attitude- isn’t helping. Will finds his feelings are decidedly very mixed. It’s the only way he can think to describe it all. He’s annoyed at Hannibal’s casual attitude about letting Will think he's killed someone- annoyed that Hannibal would be so cavalier about killing someone while out and about, with apparently no regard for their separation if he were caught, _of course,_ but there _also_ exists an aching sort of hurt about the idea of Hannibal killing someone _without him-_ , and to top it all off he’s angry at himself for getting so caught up in this when apparently nothing had even happened. 

And then there’s the way Hannibal is acting now, so damn superior and as if _Will_ is the one being unreasonable- it makes it so that the emotion he settles on, at the dinner table as they take turns sipping at their stew and staring at each other warily, is anger. Anger at the unease he feels, when he believes this is something he should be past. Anger at Hannibal, for the glibness he’s affecting and the way he seems to be testing Will. Anger at the idea of Hannibal killing someone without him, and at the reality that he didn’t but would let Will believe for even a moment that he did. That he would risk their security in their home without consulting Will. That he doesn’t seem to even be pretending to try to gleam _why_ Will is upset with him. 

“Are you going to ask me if I intend to kill her?” Hannibal finally asks between spoonfuls. 

Will has a mussel half-way down his throat, and swallows it down so roughly he has to cough. Hannibal’s excellent timing, as always. “I’m not your warden,” he says, when he can speak. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“But you are here.”

“Are you asking me why I’m here?”

“ _I_ know why you are here. I was functioning under the belief that you did as well,” Hannibal pauses to take a long, savoring sip of their bubbly white wine. “But it is not in my best interests to overstep a boundary I didn’t know was in place and find you’ve vanished. Or find myself in a position to stop you from doing so.”

It’s an exceptionally vulnerable and self-aware thing for Hannibal to say and Will could very easily accept it as a ceasefire, but instead of softening him, it just makes Will want to prod more. He can’t shake the idea that Hannibal came home with the intention to provoke him, and knowing that actually makes him want to take the bait _more_ . Will thinks back to Hannibal saying there are few things he wouldn’t allow from him. Will knows what they are, but isn’t certain if just the threat of them would bring Hannibal to anger, or violence. It only takes him a moment to decide if he wants to play the odds. _Play stupid games,_ he thinks. 

“I _could_ reject you again,” Will says, voice easy now, thoughtful. “Lay our desires and impulses out on the table and see where the overlap ends.” It’s the equivalent of pulling a gun and pointing it at Hannibal’s head. _Worse_ , Will thinks, _Hannibal would probably like that._ The fact that he barely means it at all- and Hannibal _should_ know that- doesn't affect the impact at all, because _of course_ Hannibal is just assuming this is about latent morality.

Hannibal’s expression is blank when he responds. “Even now, you seem unable to accept the fact that our desires seem to be one in the same.”

Will has to take a deep breath to stop himself from saying something even more rash. To say he’s never been in a relationship like this before is obvious, in that there likely has never been a relationship like theirs, but it’s true in more ways than one- namely, Will has never been in a relationship with someone who he actually cares enough to fight with. He understands fully now, with Hannibal and Hannibal alone, the impulse to say things in anger. “You _are_ unable to accept that they might not be.”

“You haven’t given evidence that might be true.”

“You wouldn’t see it even if I did!”

“Because I believe our desires are mirrored. I trust if I’m delusional about that, you’ll let me know.”

“I will,” Will says, spoons up some soup, and then puts the utensil back down in the bowl instead of putting it in his mouth. “Let you know.”

Hannibal nods, as if they’ve come to an agreement, and begins clearing the table. Will stays seated, finishing his glass of wine and then gulping down another. He watches Hannibal silently as he moves from the dining room to the kitchen, carrying things and wiping down the table- the stiff line of his back, the way he barely looks at Will. _He’s annoyed_ , Will thinks, something of a realization. He’s not truly angry, or betrayed. He’s annoyed. 

Even when they first met, Will found that most of the emotions he felt for and around Hannibal were absolute extremes. He knew it was the same for Hannibal, if not more so. For them to have a fight- really, a squabble, despite the potentially deadly implications- at dinner and have Hannibal be annoyed at him- it’s so domestic that it (along with the extra glass of wine) makes Will laugh aloud.

Hannibal pauses, halfway toward the dining room, and turns back, expression wary, on guard. “Something amusing?”

“I never thought about this,” Will says, “About us living together like this. Maybe you did, but even if I had, I would have never considered this part of it. The bickering.”

Hannibal is motionless, suspended in place with wine glasses in each hand. 

_I like it_ , Will thinks, _I’m in love with you, and I like it_. He even thinks about saying it, but it seems like too much of a surrender. “It’s funny,” Will says, quietly, like a confession. 

Hannibal is looking at him like he’s grown another head. “Well,” he says, prim and still slightly miffed, “I’m glad you find it funny. On the other hand, I was wondering if it would be wise of me to smuggle a knife to our bed tonight in case I need to defend myself.”

That almost makes Will laugh too, but he holds it back. Perhaps the wine is making him feel more charitable as well, because then he says- “I don’t know what your game was, with this. But you are wrong about one thing. You assume my frustration at you was to do with morality. My concern is with your lack of respect for our partnership, not with your lack of respect for the life of a woman I’ve never met.” 

“I hope you don’t believe I don’t find that any less insulting,” Hannibal says, very dry. 

“Not at all,” Will says, pushing himself to stand up from the table. He walks very close to Hannibal as he leaves the room, almost but not quite brushing against him. “Just food for thought.”

***

Hannibal is prickly the rest of the night. Will carries his own gently bemused mood with him to the den to the shower to their bed. _It’s honestly a bit of a relief_ , Will thinks, _having actual proof that I can really piss him off without getting stabbed._

Once they’re in bed, more than just his head on his chest, Will is full-body lying on top of Hannibal, curled up and held tightly in his arms. The tension from dinner is still heavy in the lines of his own back and the strength of Hannibal’s arms, but Will does not feel hindered by it. He feels as if they have reached an impasse. Will is close to being asleep when Hannibal shifts under him slightly, presses his mouth against Will’s temple before speaking.

“I see now that many of the things you said tonight were intentionally crafted to anger me, and not how you truly feel. But you should know this. If you were to _reject_ me again,” Hannibal says, purposefully uses Will’s word, “I would hurt you so badly you would never feel compelled to return to me again. It would not be an act of revenge- I would do so out of a sense of self-preservation.”

Will can’t deny the shiver that sets up his spine. Will has been tortured, locked up, stabbed, shot, and had his entire sense self vivisected from him for the sake of little more than a curious whim. He has waited in a hospital to find out if his wife and stepson had been killed because he just couldn’t stay away from Hannibal. He has lied on the kitchen floor, life pouring out of his own gut, felt and watched as Abigail died as a result of his betrayal. It is the most morbid of curiosity that makes him wonder how exactly Hannibal plans on hurting him worse than that. Hannibal will tell him, if he asks. Maybe it’s even more morbid to let it be a surprise. A hidden, never to be known threat at the back of his mind, because he has no intention of ever giving Hannibal a reason to follow through. He'd kill him first.

“I had better not leave you then,” is all Will says. 

“Better not,” Hannibal agrees. His hand is too tight on Will’s skull. In Will’s mind, the grasp is skeletal- long, white, stripped bone. Their twin steady breathing usually lulls Will, but tonight sleep is more evasive than it usually is these days. In this moment, the thought of what Hannibal feels daily as a result of what he perceives to be indecision on Will’s part sears his heart. Despite everything in their long history, the idea that he is building up insecurity in Hannibal with his history of volatility and irresolution seems indemonstrably cruel- reasons _for_ his indecision notwithstanding. Even in all that Hannibal does not feel the way Will feels, the way others feel, Will knows how deeply he feels this. The realization of this cruelty hurts, and it feels glorious. 

“For the record,” Will says after a few moments, almost tentative. “I don’t think you could do it. Or rather- I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think I could ever not come back, no matter what either one of us does.” 

Hannibal dips his head to inhale deeply at Will’s neck. Will has the fleeting, whimsical thought that Hannibal is trying to detect if he is lying by scent. “Dear Will,” he says finally, “how you always know the most damning thing to say.” 

“I never know,” Will says, and that’s the truth too. “You just always seem to like what I do end up saying.”

***

“Un digestif.” Hannibal places a small glass filled with a warm brown liquid in front of Will, and then one at his own setting. Despite reaching some amount of resolution the night before, there certainly was still an elevated degree of tension in their home today. Even now, as they’ve finished dinner and Will supposes they should be winding down, Hannibal is on edge. He hasn’t been withholding affection, or even kind words, but he is holding Will at a distance. It’s not particularly worrisome- _if he wants to be mad at me after a fight,_ Will thinks, _that’s his prerogative_ \- but Will also isn’t inclined to let it continue on much longer. 

“Merci,” Will says. The little glasses Hannibal brought out aren’t quite shot glasses but they're close, and Will isn’t sure how he’s supposed to drink it. He glances up at Hannibal just in time to see him throwing it back and swallowing without any fanfare. Will follows suit, bringing the glass up to his lips. He doesn’t quite choke at the taste, but it’s a near thing- he’s surprised first by how extremely bitter it is, and then- as an afterthought, once the bitterness fades- by how strong. He glances over to Hannibal, who is watching him out of the corner of his eye, expression neutral but obviously pleased at having surprised Will.

“Unicum,” Hannibal says, fingers still curled around his own glass. It takes a moment for Will to understand that’s the name of the liquor. “Beloved by the people of Hungary. It’s believed to have promising medicinal properties.”

“Trying to get me drunk, Dr. Lecter?” Will says, smacking his lips at the lingering taste of the drink. He’s honestly been horny all day, still riding the high of their tense conversations. Something about being so close to something- someone- so dangerous and volatile and then ending up without a scratch for once is exhilarating. Will wonders if Hannibal feels the same way about him, _hopes_ he does. “You don’t need to do that to take advantage.”

“Is that how you think of our coming together? Being taken advantage of?”

“I think we take advantage of each other.”

“Mutually assured destruction?”

“Something like that.” Will watches as Hannibal takes away their glasses, disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes. When he comes back, he stops in the doorway, just stands there, watching Will. It's atypical for Will to stay at the dinner table after the plates have been cleared. “Dinner was delicious,” Will says, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. Neither of them are going to apologize, but Will isn’t too proud to present a peace offering. “I’ll never miss a meal again. With you taking care of me.” A pause, Will lowering his eyes, smiling a little. “I feel so full.”

"You’re being salacious,” Hannibal says, not moving from his spot.

“Do you have any complaints?” Will asks, breaking a little. He huffs out a laugh and looks down at the table, running a hand through his hair. He glances up, not all the way, when Hannibal begins to stalk across the room, purposeful steps to where Will is sitting. Hannibal is singularly attractive to Will in a way he does not know when or how it happened- it was not always like that, he knows, not in Baltimore and not even when they first started sleeping together, after their fall. But at the same time, it’s hard to put himself in a time where it _wasn’t_ this way, where the height of sexual and aesthetic pleasure wasn’t Hannibal’s broad shoulders and soft stomach, his hair falling loose over his eyes, his hands, his voice, the smell of his sweat, the proud jut of his hard cock. “You should know I’m not driving into the city with you tomorrow if you’re still going to be in a mood.”

“You are remarkably frustrating to me,” Hannibal says, so sudden and clearly genuine it actually surprises Will. “Yesterday you accused me of not having respect for our partnership, moments after you threaten to leave me as some sort of petty retaliation for a perceived slight.”

“Yes, well,” Will says casually as he pushes himself up out of the chair directly into Hannibal’s space, gratified by the familiar way Hannibal’s hands take purchase on his hips, “You _were_ being kind of a dick.”

Will’s entire body clenches in surprise when Hannibal lifts him up by his thighs and deposits him on the dining room table. His breath catches dizzily fast, he’s able to feel the rapid inhale and exhalations in his stomach.

Hannibal steps between his legs, spreading them wide with his hips. He raises a hand to Will’s chest. “Your heart is beating so fast,” he murmurs. “What do you think it says about you that you take so much pleasure in being handled so roughly by someone who has, historically and factually, _taken advantage_ of you?”

“A maladaptive trauma response,” Will jokes, not able to help it, prodding Hannibal’s desire for psychoanalysis being second nature by now. He’d thought Hannibal would be amused, even if annoyed, by the comment, but he just keeps staring at Will seriously, eyes wide and almost sad. “Kidding,” Will says, gentle as he can. And then- “I like how strong you are. I like that you take care of things- that you take care of me. I like that you could hurt me, but you don’t.”

“Your attack dog on a leash.”

“My attack dog on a leash,” Will agrees, tone much kinder than Hannibal’s had been. “My fountainhead, and my annihilation. And everything in between.”

“Pretty words.”

“Then let me show you?” Will trails his hand down Hannibal’s chest, feeling warm skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m not going to apologize. We have to use them sparingly, after all.”

“Is this ‘make-up sex’?” Hannibal asks, saying the phrase like it’s a word in a foreign language he’s overheard. He’s shifted one hand to be holding onto Will’s flank, the other firm against the side of his neck. 

Will can’t help an honest-to-god giggle. “I don’t know. Have we made-up?”

Hannibal doesn’t respond, still serious and reluctant to play into Will’s joviality. He’s not really mad anymore, Will knows, neither of them are, but he clearly feels the need to offer up some resistance. Given Will’s done and knows he will likely continue to do the same thing for as long as their life together lasts, he can’t begrudge Hannibal that. And anyway, Will is confident in his ability to put an end to it. 

“You’ve known I was an asshole from the beginning, Hannibal.” Will bites his lip, can barely believe what he’s about to say even as it thrills him. He’s never been so flirty in his entire life before this, and especially not _like_ this, so shamelessly wanting, so willing to _use_ sex in such a way. “At least now you can put my mouth to good use when I run it.”

It has the intended effect- Hannibal’s expression turns deadly dark and his hand tightens around Will’s jaw hard enough to hurt. There’s a long stretch of eye contact, where they’re both still except for too-shallow breaths, and then Will gets to watch every microexpression on Hannibal’s face as he gives in. He releases Will’s face, pulls his hand back and then brings it down against his cheek in a light, fond tap, sensation barely there at all. “Clothes off,” he says. “Lie lengthwise across the table on your back and wait for me. Don’t touch yourself.” Then he’s releasing Will entirely and absconding from the room. 

Will strips haphazardly and near-clumsily, impatient and itchy at the layers of clothes. It does feel odd to lie down fully naked on the dining room table- it’s been cleared away and the wood is finished so it’s not quite uncomfortable, but it does feel very illicit, and almost exhibitionistic, despite the fact that no one but Hannibal will see him. It’s overly cool now too, without clothes or Hannibal’s body near him, and he’s squirming against the table by the time Hannibal comes back into the room. He’s stripped partially, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose around his form, his shoes and socks removed. He’s casually holding four lengths of black polypropylene rope coiled up in his hands. Will feels a thrill at seeing it, unable to resist flexing his wrists in anticipation for when he won’t be able to any longer. 

“Did you touch yourself?” Hannibal asks, taking in Will’s form stretched across the table. It’s almost an unerringly perfect fit if he keeps his arms at his side- just the midpoint of Will’s calves are extended past the end of the table, the rest of him comfortably stable. 

“No,” Will says, though he understands why Hannibal is asking. His cock is wet and ruddy, peaking away from his body. Hannibal’s answering smirk at the admission doesn’t help matters. 

First Hannibal pulls each of the six chairs away from the table and out of his way, and then he sets to work. He goes much more quickly than he normally does when he ties Will up- usually it’s drawn out to make Will even more fidgety and impatient, but tonight his movements are urgent and brusque. Will’s legs are spread and then positioned up so just his ankles are hanging over the end of the table, each one lined up with a table leg. The rope is tied tight at the beginning of the ankle, so that if Will were to try to pull away, the rope would catch on his heel. It’s not very comfortable, the forced point of his toe an ache of a stretch. He’s grateful the ledge of the table isn’t any farther away from the table legs that it already is. 

Hannibal appears close beside him. _Time for my wrists_ , Will thinks, but is surprised when Hannibal grips onto his shoulders and pulls back up as far as he’ll go with how he’s already tied to the table. When it’s done, the entirety of Will’s neck and head and the beginning of his shoulders are off the end of the table, and it’s only a few seconds before the effort to keep his head steady becomes noticeably uncomfortable. 

“Keep your head level, just like that.” Hannibal says. “If you don’t you’ll get dizzy.”

The sudden realization of what Hannibal intends along with the order- Will _knows_ he’ll get dizzy- makes him grit his teeth. 

“Reach your arms completely back over the table, and hold onto the legs. As far as you can go now, that’s a good boy.” Hannibal ties not only his wrists, but braids the rope up over his arms as well, fastening way up so everything from his wrist to above his elbow is fastened to the table legs. “Very good.”

Hannibal steps away and watches him, very quiet. Will remains still, though his neck is already aching. It’s something he’s noticed over the past few months- Hannibal likes to tell him to hold an uncomfortable position and then observe him. It’s not something Will would ever have thought to incorporate into their sex life- and he doesn’t find the discomfort itself erotic, but his desire to take and follow orders from Hannibal like this isn’t a secret to either of them anymore. And even beyond that- 

“I like when you position me how you want,” Will breathes out, words becoming difficult as he struggles to keep his head up. This is heavy-handed, perhaps, but he has to acknowledge what the implication of Hannibal spreading him out on the dining room table does to him, physically and otherwise. “Like I’m one of your tableaus.” The layer of tension that shadows the room following this statement makes something twist in Will’s stomach. The ever-crossing wires of fear and arousal for him become more entwined by the day. 

“You were right,” Hannibal says, taking quick and even steps so that he’s nearer Will’s head now. “I do have a better use for your smart mouth.”

Will groans loud enough for the sound to reverberate through the room as Hannibal takes hold of his head, supports him fully so he’s no longer straining his neck. His entire body slumps in relief, and he didn’t realize how tensed up he’d actually gotten. The relief is undercut with a flush of anxiety as Hannibal pulls one hand away to undo his own pants and shove them and his underwear down just far enough to pull his cock out. The position is unfamiliar, to say the least, and puts him at complete mercy of what Hannibal wants. Will’s not sure he’s ever had Hannibal’s cock in his mouth without also having a hand around the base of it, or at least the ability to do so if he needs. He’s not expecting Hannibal to be overly harsh with him, but the fact that he very much _could_ is undeniable. _Well_ , Will thinks with more humor than anything else, as he obligingly opens his mouth wide and lets Hannibal slowly press inside with his hard cock, _I always have my teeth._

Hannibal does go very slow- he fills Will’s mouth with care, the head of his cock not quite reaching back enough to choke him, and then he’s bringing his hand back down again so he’s using both of them to cradle Will’s head. There’s a moment of rest wherein Will can sense Hannibal staring at him- Will has his own eyes closed and imagines he’ll keep them that way for the rest of it- the view he has in uninspiring at best and disorienting at worst, and he already feels like he needs to keep his concentration more than usual, for this. 

Then, Hannibal breathes out a sigh, and begins working his cock slowly in and out of Will’s mouth- he’s being very gentle, not putting enough in to obstruct his breathing at all, keeps his movements easy, seemingly focusing more on enjoying the feeling of Will’s lips against him than anything else. It’s nice in an odd sort of way- Will is tied up to the point of almost total restriction and he’s counting on Hannibal for everything up to and including holding his head up. He certainly doesn’t feel wracked by indecision- because he has little opportunity for decision at all- which is a relief after so many years of having been in so many areas of his life.

Little time at all passes before Hannibal pulls his cock out, and Will hears him shifting his stance somewhat. He thinks he’s getting into a better position, and perhaps he is, but Will realizes what else he intends when he feels something brush against his fingertips. It’s Hannibal’s calf, and Will closes his hand around it best he can with the limited movement of his wrists. 

“Dig in with your nails in if you want to stop,” Hannibal says. “Hard as you can.”

Will has to purse his lips to stop from smiling as he recalls his thoughts from earlier. After a moment he decides he can’t resist it, so he lets himself grin broadly and says, “If I want you to stop, Hannibal, I’ll dig in with my _teeth_.”

Hannibal grunts out a rough noise in response that Will can’t quite place the meaning of- _it might even be a word,_ Will considers with delight, _a curse in a language I don't know-_ but his voice when he orders Will to open his mouth a moment later is all cold steel. Hannibal presses his cock inside with the same slow care as before, only this time, he doesn’t stop. His hands are firm at the back of Will’s head, holding him steady enough that there’s barely any pressure on his neck at all, but that’s the only sense of comfort there is. Will can’t resist the uneasy tension in his stomach as the head of Hannibal’s cock continues past his mouth and into the channel of his throat. Even as he _knows_ he is in no real danger, his lungs and throat seem to not, and this rush of adrenaline exacerbates the already increasing difficulty to breath at all. The huffs he’s taking in through his nose are so very shallow and insubstantial. 

It’s almost _more_ distressing how slow it is, how Will can seemingly feel every centimeter of Hannibal’s cock that is taking up space down Will’s throat. When he’s finally unable to resist the urge to gag lightly, letting his throat clench up around Hannibal’s cock, Hannibal makes a noise pitched to a degree Will is certain he hasn’t ever heard. Will’s own dick has been firm and leaking, kept up by a consistent degree of mid-grade arousal but at that- at hearing Hannibal make such a honeyed, delicate noise even as he’s performing what can only be described as an act of overt dominance- Will jerks his hips up hard even while knowing no relief is coming, squeezes his eyes shut hard even though they’re already closed. 

Dizziness is only barely starting to take hold when Hannibal pulls out so Will can breathe. He could have taken much more, and he thinks Hannibal knows that, and he has to wonder how much the break is for _Hannibal’s_ benefit. The idea pleases him- he _is_ supposed to be making Hannibal feel better after all. Hannibal doesn’t pull out all of the way, just far enough so Will can get some air in, Will's lips still around the head of his cock. 

“I wanted to keep you tied up for hours,” Hannibal says, all but confirming to Will his assumption that this won’t last much longer at all. “One day I will. If you want to be a tableau, I’ll give that to you.”

The reedy noise Will makes in response to _that_ is silenced as Hannibal fucks back into Will’s throat, much faster than before but still smooth. He actually does fuck his throat properly now, a steady and thorough fucking that makes it so Will can focus on very little but not choking. Will’s been fading in and out of the hazy-enamoured-mirthful mindset he occasionally finds himself in when they play in this particular way- but being treated like this he can’t help but be immersed in it. He can’t help but feel so, so good at how his body supplies Hannibal with pleasure, with how much enjoyment they pull from each other. He is _trying_ to keep his throat open, but it’s harder than it sounds in theory. It rather feels as if Hannibal’s cock is what's keeping his throat open, and Will himself has very little to do with the matter. _That’s fine_ , Will thinks, _that’s good. I’m being so good for him._

When Hannibal comes, Will actually does start to choke, the surprise of the sudden release just as jarring as the mouthful of semen. He focuses hard to keep his mouth open even as denying himself the allowance of coughing causes a sharp nasal pain and makes him flail out his feet as much as he can. It’s only for a few seconds- Hannibal pulls out before he’s even done and more come lands on Will’s throat, on his cheek- and he tilts Will's head up even higher so that he can swallow and catch his breath without any more difficulty. Will realizes how hard he's clutching at Hannibal's leg, and loosens his grip, and then let's go entirely.

Once Will has caught his breath, Hannibal releases his head, and Will doesn’t bother with trying to keep it steady, though the rush of blood to his head as he lets it fall back over the ledge of the table isn’t helping with the how lightheaded he feels. (In the back of his mind, Will _is_ a little surprised by quickly it’s all gone- Hannibal spending the effort to tie him up only to barely use him at all. Will's not disappointed at all though, but in fact is desperately pleased. He wonders if it’s just the relief of tension of the last few days that made Hannibal unravel so quickly, or if it was the position, or something more specific that Will had done. Will has the fleeting, hopeful thought that it was the latter.)

Hannibal is kneeling beside him near instantly, and Will’s wrists are released from their ties so quickly that he lets his eyes finally fall open and glances over in surprise, and is very pleased to see a hint of metal and realize that Hannibal had cut them away with a knife. Similarly quick work is made of his ankles, and then Hannibal is half-helping him up, half-tugging him into place so he’s seated on the edge of the table, leaning heavily against Hannibal where he’s standing between Will’s spread legs. The relief of being able to rest his neck as he tucks his face into Hannibal’s shoulder is as strong as the relief of Hannibal taking his leaking dick in hand. Even as hard as he’s been, his own orgasm was barely on his radar- now, he has no interest in waiting any longer. 

“Impertinent,” Hannibal says, jerking Will’s cock aggressively, like it's a punishment. “Rash, foolhardy boy. How I love you.”

“Yes,” Will’s panting, vision blurring with the sudden rush of pleasure. His voice is fucking _wrecked_. “Sir, please, yes.”

“You’ve become greedy, Will. You know the depth of my feeling for you, and you still choose to test me.” Hannibal runs his free hand down one of Will’s sides, nails digging into soft, sensitive places and making Will writhe and groan. “I’ve given you everything I am, and yet you want more.”

“Always,” Will agrees, the truth of it hitting a chord like the clapper of a bell and reverberating through him. “ _Always_ , Hannibal. Give me more.”

Hannibal slips his free hand between Will’s thighs and somehow shoves two fingers inside of him, dry and rough, and it shocks a cry out of Will, not hurting too terribly but still catching him off guard enough that it seems to catch his orgasm too, because he’s coming but it feels like it’s lasting forever, as he squirms against the discomfort of Hannibal’s fingers inside him, and comes ropes against his stomach- the orgasm is pulled out of him like he’s resisting it, even though he isn’t, even though it’s the one thing in the world he needs in this moment.

He doesn't black out, but he is too overwhelmed and tired to hold himself up any longer, practically collapsing forward against Hannibal as he gently removes his fingers from his ass and his hand from his cock. They’re both panting, and Hannibal’s hands seem to be everywhere now, petting over Will in a stream of affection. It takes a long time for Will to come back to himself enough to be able to say anything, but his thoughts settle on how tense Hannibal has been since their argument, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Being worried doesn’t suit you,” Will says, very hoarse, murmured in Hannibal’s ear. “So cut it out. And have a little faith in me- I might need time, but you were right about at least one thing. We both know why I’m here.”

“Of course, Will,” Hannibal says, gruff but with a lightness in his voice that Will hasn’t heard all day.

“This is what a relationship is, Hannibal. Two people doing their best not to fuck up something good. Or I guess something bad, in our case.”

Hannibal is hot all over- even half-dressed his body is sweaty against Will’s, his breath humid in Will’s ear. “I am,” he says, soft and vulnerable like a secret. “Doing my best.”

 _I love you so much_ , Will thinks, but instead of saying anything he’s unable to stop himself from letting out a long, body-wracking yawn. He feels Hannibal smile against him.

“Let’s get you up,” Hannibal says, helping off the table, getting him steady on his feet. Taking care of him.

***

Will wakes up on the couch in the living room, nude and wrapped up in a blanket. He’s pleasantly sore in a way he used to only associate with a satisfying day of manual labor, and now almost entirely associates with good sex. He considers going straight up to the bedroom and falling back asleep, but ends up changing his mind on pure intuition and walking out to the deck instead. Like he expected, Hannibal is sitting in a wicker chair, looking out into the dark horizon. He's wearing pajama bottoms and a well-worn sweater, and Will has to resist the urge to just climb in his lap and never leave. In consolation, he steps close enough to him to feel his body heat.

“I’m allowed to be uncertain,” Will says. There is unfinished business from earlier, and he does now feel in a place where he can discuss without purposefully antagonizing Hannibal, though he can’t really bring himself to regret anything that’s happened the past 36 hours. Not with the treatment it’s earned him.

“You are,” Hannibal says, agreeably, looking up at Will with no small amount of affection. It is clear that the lingering annoyance he had at Will for his threats during their fight has faded away like the tide. “I only ever ask that you are not uncertain about me. I will not put us into danger over something trivial. And if you decide that it is something important to you, I am willing to not engage with behaviors where there is a high amount of risk without consulting you first. This is, as you said, a relationship.”

“It’s not something either of us is used to,” Will says, tone thoughtful. “I never... Even when I was married- I’ve never had a joint checking account, never filed joint taxes. Never had to consider someone else in such a way. Not like this.”

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees. “It is certainly novel.” A weighty pause, and then- “Though I am glad to inform you that filing taxes won’t be a concern.” 

Will laughs hard enough that he dislodges the blanket he’s wearing like a cloak around him. He pulls it tight around him again to protect himself from the night chill and, in a spout of mischief, sits himself on the ground next to the chair, leans so his head is pillowed against Hannibal’s thigh. Hannibal immediately threads his fingers gently through his hair, and it makes Will shiver despite the blanket. “Hell. I guess you’re right about that.”

“If I may,” Hannibal says, after a moment, “what _are_ you uncertain about, Will?”

“Many things,” Will says. “Though I think they are in some ways much more, and in some ways much less complicated than what you assume. If you had killed that woman, at once our lives would change in a way I am not certain that I am prepared for. I was so angry at you, that something that would be such a major step in my life is something you treated carelessly.” 

“You have already taken that step,” Hannibal says, not ungently. “But if more time spent in the haven we have built for ourselves here is what you need, that is something that isn't a hardship for me to grant you.”

Will hums in response, nuzzles into Hannibal’s thigh. There was a time, even very recently, where that would have been exactly what he wanted to hear. But not every emotion he had felt in response to believing Hannibal had killed that woman had been negative. He thinks about the primal appeal of it- of his mate bringing home dinner. He thinks about him and Hannibal doing it together.

“There are a few things that I am exceedingly certain of.”

Hannibal doesn’t respond verbally, just keeps his eyes on Will and keeps petting his hair. 

“One,” Will says, enjoying the spark of nerves at what he’s about to say, “is that I love you. And another”- Will closes his eyes, luxuriating, joyful- “is that I miss your cooking.”

Will is anticipating it, but he still gasps a little when his head is suddenly pulled back, Hannibal’s grip on his hair painful. He opens his eyes and has to bite his lip at Hannibal’s expression. Deadly. Lately, Will finds he lives for seeing Hannibal look at him like that. 

“Dear Will,” Hannibal says, almost mocking, eyes dark and knowing, “I cook for you every night.”

“I want you to cook for me,” Will says, slowly, deliberately, meaning every word, “like you used to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will threatens to bite hannibal's dick off and hannibal comes in like two minutes 🙄🙄🙄 c'est la vie 🙄🙄🙄
> 
> chapter 4 on sunday!


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